By the time I had calmed to a more sensible point and maneuvered my way out of the tub, wiping away any evidence of bubbles clinging to my skin and clothes (which were now at a point of sticking uncomfortably to every inch of my body), the Colonel was impatiently pacing in the living room, frowning at the spot I'd been sleeping in for the past few days. It had escaped my mind he had taken off his uniform jacket earlier, so seeing him in a plain long sleeved shirt was a strange sight. Seeing him only in his work attire, I had come to the point of believing that was all the man ever wore. He giving the impression of being "normal" was almost unnervingly bizarre.

But that didn't change the fact that I was very much pissed.

"How the hell did you get in here?" I hiss, unconsciously covering my shoulder, despite the dulled pain. I recall the key he held in his hand when barging so rudely into the bathroom. But Riza wouldn't dare give her own apartment key to him of all people, would she? She had told me her denial of the Colonel taking me into his own care. Undoubtedly, she had a respectable place in her heart for me. To allow Roy to walk inside, after personally encouraging me to take a shower, would be horrendous on her part. The cruelty! The humiliation!

The Colonel turns to face me with a look of contentment. A look that said he hadn't nor would he ever forget of what occurred in the bathroom.

"I have my ways," he simply says, ballsy enough to plant himself right smack on the place I'd been slumbering away so peacefully. The very spot that I now wish homicidally to paint with his blood. With a frenzy of internal screaming, I stay right where I am. It would be a risk, traveling any closer to the bastard. I'd like to keep my skin purified of the idiot. Asides from the blackened scars on my thigh and waist, and the purplish smudge of shoulder I still had.

"You do realize you're still wearing those clothes and dripping all over the place, don't you?" he points out, earning a sarcastic, bitter laugh.

"No. The thought never occurred to me."

Roy shrugs, raising his hands submissively. "No need to be angry. I wasn't able to see anything."

"Yes, but you very well could have," I snap.

"Can't figure your way out with that wound, hmm?"

For a moment I pause, struck by the accuracy of his words. Indeed, I could not manage a simple get away from these damn clothes because of this damn scorch mark the damn man had burnt onto me. Thanks to him, I am driven to a poor, pitiful condition of possibly needing someone else to help me out of my own clothing just to get cleaned up. I, Misaki, an experienced fighter and exceptionally skilled hunter, have been downgraded to a hopeless sack of dead weight, being tended to, cooked for, and possibly, shamefully undressed. Aggravation could hardly apply to what I felt. It loomed more like devastation.

To Roy's question, I remain reserved, carelessly tossing a confirming glare. It's enough to fuel his compulsive desire to tease.

"Well, I mean I could help. You only need to ask."

"No, I'm quite alright," I scowl, regarding the man with a disliking distrust. He picks up on my cynical behavior, bringing a hand to his chin in thought. Ever so casually, his gaze flickers down to my covered thighs and I shrink away in self-consciousness. "I'd prefer for you to refrain from invading my space with your eyes."

He doesn't come up with another insult or low comment. Instead, he leans into his seat, suggesting a tiresome conversation. It's then I take in his youth and remind myself just how much this man had been forced to grow through. It's then it really settles, the childhood he could be lacking. Something we both had in common.

"Which one?"

I tilt my head curiously, wondering if I heard him correctly.

"Which one, what?" I echo. Roy leans forward, his elbows resting on knees, his bare, exposed hands interlacing with one another to provide a platform for his chin. I'm randomly visualizing his posture, picturing the background as an office. Clearly an image forms. The Colonel in his natural habitat. His intimidating, concentrated stance. His eyes close. His mouth forms a strong, thin line.

"Which did I… Which leg did I-?"

He seems unable to formulate the sentence. It hardly matters. I'm perfectly aware of what he is trying to say.

"Which leg did your flames hit two years ago?" I assume, raising a brow in question. He nods, maintaining that professional, rehearsed look. All signs of the earlier boy, laughing and revealing rare crinkles of humor in his eyes are completely eradicated. This man is all business.

Roy Mustang. The man I had come to remember as the alchemist who burnt a piece of the past, permanently. He was sitting here before me, having recently learned of his interaction. There is no way for me to be sure of how he feels. I cannot decipher his emotions. I can only guess by his incomplete prodding, his supposed inability to properly ask where he had inflicted those scars, whether he truly regretted and never wished to bring harm to his enemy at the time.

My reaction in the woods could have been regarded as a bit extreme.

"Does it really matter?" I reply with a twinge of guilt. I had the strongest assumption that he had taken my words directly to the heart. Really thinking, I come to understand just how indebted I should have been to him. A silly, accidental burn from the past was nothing to fuss over.

"I caused you harm. I basically tattooed a terrible date into your skin. There is no excuse for me to cower behind, so I may as well come out and say in a severe understatement: I'm sorry."

Touching. The Colonel apologizing. Despite my, ok I'll admit, impulsive strike, and the frivolous taunts and leers, the man did come to my rescue and, in an unorthodox manner… possibly saved my life. He took in my request to evade the infirmary. He sealed, didn't intentionally burn, my wound. And because of that, he may have prevented loss of a precious limb. Really, pushing aside the burdens of the past and his ridiculous remarks, the Colonel sent vibes of…genuine compassion. It's a touching moment, but for some strange reason…

"Don't you have work to do, Colonel?" I say acidly.

I choose to be a complete jerk.

Roy suffers the blow with a stunned, pained expression, then switches into his smug character. Acting as if he couldn't care less about having me hate his guts.

"Yeesh. You sound exactly like the Lieutenant. Might as well say 'get back to doing your paperwork, sir'."

Why was I being so cold?

"Get back to doing your paperwork, sir."

His eyes widen, his head raising in shock. "Y-Yes, just like that. How the devil-?"

"That wasn't me," I say, suddenly keenly aware of an extra presence. With a sneaking glimpse, I choke back a startled yell. There is Riza and she appears to be composed and notably sane, but there is a frighteningly suffocating atmosphere, and so I carefully step out of her way. Once I do, Roy has her completely within his sights, and I know it's not just my eyes playing tricks when his face does a single twitch.

He and I both know the Colonel is a dead man.

"Sir," Riza says in such a calm, calm voice. "You're needed back at the office."

"L-Lieutenant," he stammers, leaping to his feet. "Ah, you've returned home…rather quickly. Yes, ah, paperwork. I'll be heading on out then." He almost trips, scurrying past me and out into the hallway.

"Sir?"

"Y-Yes, Lieutenant?" Roy stops, eyeing her with a visible bead of sweat.

"Your jacket."

"Right," he responds, flying back in and out at quite the impressive speed. In no time, he's down and running back out into the world of law and order. The sight comes to slightly humor me, Riza however, spinning back to observe my wet state and the chaotic mess in her bathroom, stole away my moment of comedy relief, replacing it with a gnawing terror.

Childishly, all I say is, "Everything was his doing."

Riza sighs, coming towards me shivering with a sudden realization: it's cold.

"Come on, now. Let's get you out of that. Once you've finished…" she trails off to pass a side glance at the halfway filled tub. "Bathing, apparently… The clothes I've set out for you should be easy enough for you to slip in. And if you can't, I have a robe somewhere around here."

"Th-That's alright," I stutter, baffled by her suspiciously kind gestures. "I'll, uh, manage."

She passes a look of disbelief. Taking a second glance at my gross state, I don't blame her.

Reluctantly, I follow her into the bathroom. She regards the flooded floor with a frown, opening a top cabinet to withdraw a couple of fluffy towels, covering my shivering body with one. Taking and pressing the other to the ground, absorbing the liquid, she speaks without turning to face me.

"Are you alright?"

"Yes?" I say as a question, as though fearing that is the wrong answer. "I mean, well, he didn't really do anything if that's what you mean."

She rises, bringing the dripping clump of towel.

"I hope you understand how serious the Colonel was."

What did she mean? Of course I understood how serious his apology was. I mean, I felt like it was legitimate. Wasn't it? It didn't agree with my sour response, but I hadn't planned to appear so…harsh.

She leaves the room, making me wonder if I was meant to tag along or just stay where I was. But before I could stress over the manner too much, she reenters empty handed, pulling the only open door to a close. Her hands fall onto her hips in a stern approach, waiting.

"So you heard?"

She nods, listening.

"Ah, umm. I do…"

"You sound convincing," she says facetiously, making her way to the tub, switching back on the water. I watch the lulling wave of steam rising into the ceiling, passing a shrug.

"Well. I guess it wasn't entirely his fault. What happened," I admit, pulling the towel around my shoulders closer. She says nothing more about the topic. With a single grunt, everything is dismissed and dealt with, for now.

"I'm just going to get your wounded arm out and you can do the rest."

Realizing she's actually going to help, I panic. My wings. Even by taking out a single sleeve, I risk her having the tiniest peek at my deepest secret. There's no way I could deal with that. The questions. The lies. But I couldn't just completely tell her off without setting suspicion. She'd no doubt brush away any tactics in feigning shyness. Just the thought of sheepishly admitting to being nervous about showing off a bare shoulder was pathetic. 'I'm so insecure about showing off skin…'

No freaking way.

This is Riza. The girl I befriended in the midst of war. If she was really the woman I believed her to be at the time, then surely, she'd listen to one of my requests?

"Riza?"

"Hmm?"

"Do you think that maybe when you're doing that… you could close your eyes?"

Well. That could've sounded a million times better.

Riza gives a look of confusion, takes a moment to observe my bandaged arm, then to my relief, agrees. But on one condition.

"You have to allow the Colonel to visit occasionally."

Occasionally.

In my dictionary, occasionally isn't frequently. In Riza and Roy's terms… I had no clue what it meant. All I knew was Riza never saw my wings and took to her agreement, refraining from any temptations of discovering my feathery secret. She left me to bathe myself, thank goodness, and made her way back to HQ.

I cleaned up nicely, avoiding any further compulsions to play amongst the bubbles. With both doors securely locked, double checking every now and then, I even gave my wings a good scrub down. As should have been expected, the transmutation circles etched in the midst of them had punctured holes from the bullets. Luckily, the ammo had passed through the tissue and I could keep from worrying whether they were still inside the flesh. My alchemy, with a few curious tests, remained useless. Not a single typhoon or whirlwind or bolt of light could be conjured. I came to the conclusion that, due to previous experiences, my wings would eventually heal. They may not have been attached to me since birth, but they were without a doubt, connected to my nerves. So it'd only make sense if they gradually recover, only at the normal speed of the average human. An estimated two weeks for me. Just as Riza insisted I stay. The shoulder, however, would probably take an entire month. Thankfully, and hopefully, my alchemy will be restored long before then and I'd simply cheat my way into a suitable condition and get out of this city, ASAP.

As for now, I had to worry about keeping my distance. Cut the ties. Don't get attached to these people. Including Maes Hughes, who was now smiling at me in the open front doorway, his eyes glistening with a blinding admiration.

Hadn't he said he was a Colonel as well? Maybe Riza had been referring to him.

"Hi…" I greet half-heartedly, wondering why I even bothered opening the door in the first place. It wasn't my place to welcome in guests, yet I just went right ahead and came face to face with the man.

"Misaki! I just wanted to come in and see how you were doing. How's the arm?" Hughes asks with a genuine concern, politely staying out in the hallway to keep from intruding in my personal space. Gratefully, I step away, motioning him inside, despite the fact this really wasn't my place to do so. Oh well. Riza did say the Colonel. Nothing else specific. Hughes could come in because of her unclear message.

"Dead weight, pretty much," I answer without my usual bitterness. As Hughes carefully enters, shutting the door behind him, he gives the room a once over, smile sticking for show. Sitting down, I cross my legs on the cushion, leaning back to relax in the heavenly pajamas Riza lent. My hair was tied into a ponytail, faintly wet, flopped onto a towel I put on the back of the couch. Hughes chuckles, taking a seat into a loveseat.

"You seem comfortable," he teasingly points out, adjusting his glasses. I close my eyes in silent confirmation. "You eat anything yet?"

Reopening my gaze to him, watching me with a hidden concern, I reply: "I was planning to grab a snack in a bit."

Approvingly, he nods. He looks more relaxed at my reassurance, clasping his hands together. "Okay! Then how about this?" Reaching into a brown sack, I guess I failed to notice it earlier, he extracted a small sub, waving it pleasantly. "Would you mind if I shared my lunch break with you, today?"

Without thinking I say sure. After listening to the sound of rustling and unwrapping, it dawns on me that having a kind guy like Hughes in here having his lunch was the complete opposite of not getting attached. But how could I just change my mind and tell the man to leave? He was sweet enough to come in and check up on me, even though I shouldn't be one of his problems. Watching him take a hearty bite into his food, I worry about the lack of awkwardness. Not talking didn't come as uncomfortable to me. And based on the way he was beaming at the inhale of his sandwich, he really didn't mind either.

Once he finishes, he sighs happily, patting his stomach. I randomly wonder his age. He and Roy were apparently close. Childhood friends maybe? But Hughes seemed somehow more mature. Not old per say, but noticeably more grown up. Something about the way shadows loom dimly under his crinkling stare. Even with moments of appearing playful and energetic, there seemed something dark and serious in his nature.

"Mr. Hughes," I venture, earning a wide eyed snort and an insistence to refer to him as Hughes or even Maes. "Hughes," I correct myself, already accustomed to the title. "If you don't mind me asking, are you the same age as the Colonel?"

"Yep," he sings, crumbling up his trash. "Roy and I are both in our mid-twenties. Although, you probably thought I seemed a little older, hmm?"

"A bit," I say timidly, wondering if that was rude on my part. "But just by maybe a couple of years…"

Hughes laughs. "Ah. It's no doubt the facial hair. Looks great on me. Terrible on Roy."

Absurdly, I try picture the Colonel with a beard. The image makes me smile. "I'll bet," I say humorously.

It's a rarity to smile. It's sort of nice. With that small revealing, Hughes takes full charge and pulls us into a conversation. We speak of the Colonel, me listening to embarrassing stories that I assured I'd take to the grave (and possibly threaten the man with), Hughes laughing my retelling of our meeting in the woods. Willingly, I include mentioning of the girl in white and find myself thinking back to the Colonel's unfinished story. Hughes tells me more of his position in Central Command and trusts me with some previous cases he's worked through. I reluctantly tend to his obvious interest in my meeting with Riza. He nods with my tale of woe and gasps at learning of how Riza had fallen victim to a crushed spine and broken bones. When I explain the process of healing her, he looks completely amazed. He takes my place as an Aerugo survivor surprisingly well, refraining from any sensitive questions. I stray away from any events that brought a dreadful shivering to my legs. Hughes talks about his meeting with Gracia. The story is so gushingly cute that I have to constantly swallow down amused giggles and rising urges to tease the romantic. It's so bizarre, sitting here, listening to someone speak of his love life. For a moment I lie on the edge of jealousy. For someone to experience that beautiful stage of late night talks and hugs enveloping one another… For someone to be able to do all that. I can't resist imagining my life staying on that path. But later my envy gives way to smiles and small chuckles. I think of how Naomi would freak out, hearing this sort of adorable passion from a soldier of a people. Naomi, thinking about it, would probably poke at me, whispering seriously, 'Take notes. This is important stuff, K'. Surprisingly her name doesn't bring the usual flash of pain. The thought of Naomi being here, talking to the two of us was actually almost comforting. Perhaps I was finally accepting what had happened. Maybe Naomi had forgiven me. Maybe she understood.

"Misaki, I've spoken to Lieutenant Hawkeye about you, and I hear that you're antsy to leave."

My laughter at a joke Hughes told falters. Already the fun and pointless subjects were done and dealt with. Sadly, I nod.

"As soon as I can, I'd like to go back out there."

Hughes smiles, his eyes softening.

"Back to the forest, you mean?"

"Yes."

He folds his palms together, beating it gently against his knee. I watch the hypnotic motion, realizing how weird his words sounded. Going back to the forest. Like I was some animal. Some crazy, unheard of fairytale of the lone girl who scoured the trees, surviving and just coping with everything. Tragic. A pitiful life to live.

"Misaki," Hughes calls, bring me to look at him now standing. He seems brighter, excited. "Tomorrow, if you're feeling up to it, why don't you come with me on a little outing?"

"Outing?"

"Yes, an outing- a trip if you will," he says enthusiastically. "Where we'll be going is a surprise, of course I'll be sure to check in with the Colonel and Lieutenant. What do you say?"

I grimace at the thought of needing permission to go somewhere, but the idea does pique my interest.

"Sure," I answer. "I'd like that very much."

"Wonderful! Same time tomorrow if that's alright?" he asks, beaming. His eagerness rubs off on me and I risk a pleased smile, saying that the timing was fine. I had nowhere important to go. He chuckles, passing a salute, and leaves the door with a lingering "Goodbye!"

To the closed door, I softly reply with my own, "bye…"

"Here. Drink some water."

Graciously, I accept the offered bottle from Riza's hand, quickly turning back to the toilet to lose the last of my attempted meal. As I said I would, a few hours after Hughes left I gave in to my rumbling stomach and downed a few crackers and sips of soup Riza brought. Almost immediately, I fled to the bathroom and became nauseas.

A shame. I really was starving.

"Sorry," I apologize, interrupted by a series of gags. Riza sits beside me, her back pressing against cabinets, looking ahead at the shower. Her uniform is halfway off. A black shirt with crossing belts along her back covers her torso. Her uniform pants remain on, her weapons sheathed safely. She had been in the middle of changing when she heard my horrible noises. Being who she was, she dropped her actions and went in to check on me. For several minutes I'd been like this. She'd never once left my side except for bringing in the water and napkins.

"There's no need to apologize," she says, passing me a napkin. I take it, roughly rubbing away at my numb mouth. My throat screams for moisture so I gulp down water. "Slow down. Take it easy."

With a nod, I cut down the speed, gasping and wiping away beads of sweat running down my neck. "No. I'm here wasting the good food you were nice enough to bring. Of course I'm going to apologize."

Riza gives a weak chuckle. "It's fine, really. I don't even like soup."

"Well I'm sure you don't like it anymore," I say, joining her laughter.

Despite being sick and crippled, feeling like absolute crap, hearing Riza laugh brought back a pleasant rush of memories from our talk in Ishval. And judging by her contemplating expression, she was remembering too. Remembering things that leaked a mystery.

"You're dying to ask me," I say weakly, thudding my head against the wall, watching her confirming attempt to avert my eyes.

"It's not in my place to force you to tell me anything," she says dismissively. She shakes away her obvious desire to know what the devil happened to me within an almost three year span. I can't blame her. Seeing me smiling and talk about my future. The light that lived in me. My blooming resistance to kill solely on the commands of leaders. Riza wants the connection from those days to now. Finding me bloody in the midst of nature. In her home territory. An Aerugonian. A surviving Aerugonian. The youthful light within me, extinguished.

What had happened? She wishes to know what broke me down to this wandering, lost girl.

"Right. It isn't."

We sit there quietly, reflecting, buzzed with invasions of 'what if'. My shoulder aches. The floor feels cold. Riza, mind reader, rises, offering a hand to lift me to my own feet.

"When you're ready, maybe," she hopes, patting my untouched shoulder. At her touch I frown. It's a friendly gesture and I'm not entirely certain I deserve it.

"Maybe," I echo, following her back into the living room and into bed.

For a second, I really do hope.

A Glimpse into the Future:

"Edward and Alphonse Elric."

"Brothers?"

"Apparently."

"Roy. They're only children."

"Yes. The dogs just get younger and younger."

"Human transmutation… The ultimate taboo."

Roy nods, keeping his eyes peeled to the road ahead. I sigh. My walls were already up. This couldn't faze me. I refuse for it to. This was why I asked to be brought after all. Practice. Practice building those defenses and keep out the dark. Don't live in the past. Misaki. I am Misaki.

"Okay?" Roy asks, sneaking a glimpse at my stiffening posture. I nod, watching a shape take form in the distance, dwelling in all this green. Endless fields. Hardly any buildings. The Fuhrer truly pursued for his State Alchemists. Or, more commonly known, dogs. Edward Elric. Alphonse Elric. Children. Our leader wanted children in the military.

Children who performed human transmutation.

"What are we doing, Roy?"

He chuckles in response.

"Don't you remember? Dogs don't question. They heel."

…

The first thing I notice are the eyes. Those eyes.

Dull. Dark. Dead.

Those eyes that saw the mutations of human and demon.

Eyes that only knew Truth.

Eyes that sought for lies.

Eyes that mirrored my own.

Edward Elric. The boy who made my mistake. Who committed my crime.

And his brother?

A large armored figure looming above his broken brother. Expressionless.

I can't.

I was wrong to believe I could handle this.

Roy is talking to an older woman. He's stating our reason. Offering a place in HQ. To children. To these…these kids. They've been recognized for talent. Rather than regarding their trauma, what they witnessed, that no one, surely not a child, surely not two, should ever see, the military targets their skills. Newly acclaimed knowledge. Their usefulness.

And I'm part of it all.

I'm a tiny piece of this horrid goal.

The boy. He's missing an arm. Missing a leg. Missing his innocence.

I stalk out without a word, aware of Roy watching me. He doesn't follow. He and I are here for one purpose. He is set to carry out his orders. I won't stand for it. I won't.

A small mass collides into me.

"I'm sorry," a fragile voice squeaks, stumbling back. A girl. Another child. Hair of yellow, eyes of blue. She's been trying to eavesdrop. She must care for the boys. A friend? A sister? She carries no real resemblance. Must be a friend.

I smile. "It's alright," I say reassuringly, stepping past her, thinking better of it. "Say, I've never been here before. Care to show me around?"

She fidgets and I know she wants to continue listening. But she's aware of good manners and begins to say she will. But I change my mind.

"Or, we could wait together for them to finish, Miss…?"

Shyly, but with a look of appreciation, she answers "Winry."

"Winry," I repeat, loving the way it slides across my tongue. Such a pretty name. "Beautiful. My name is Misaki. How about we take a seat over here on the stairs? It's a lovely day for having a friendly conversation."

She's young, but clever. Understanding, she sits with me and we talk. And talk. And talk. We talk about her friends Edward and Al. We talk about the military. And we talk about the future.

We omit the past.